Alex left Atherton's office, stopped at a pay phone in the lobby of the building where the offices were, and asked his people to run a record check on Mel Ott.
The detective division administrative assistant ran the check using the department's new computerized files, and told Alex that Mel had a long list of traffic violations, including several drunk driving arrests, and more than his share of misdemeanors, but no history of felonies. It also listed an address.
"Interesting," Alex thought as he drove toward Ott's last known address in his unmarked car. "Mr. Ott appears to be moving up in criminal circles. He's not getting any smarter, though. He should have been more careful in his choice of victims."
He had asked to have backup units meet him at Ott's listed address. He saw a marked patrol car and second detective unit waiting outside the run-down apartment building when he turned the corner onto the street.
Alex held a brief conference with the other officers to let them know what they were there for. He sent the uniformed officers around to the rear of the house to cover that possible route of escape. Sergeant Martha Draper, a veteran detective and Sergeant Tim Jackman, a decorated young street cop who had recently been promoted to the detective division; went into the building with Alex.
The apartment listed as the one Ott was supposed to be living in was empty. A short, squat, dirty woman with gray hair appeared from one of the downstairs apartments when the disappointed officers descended the rickety stairs to the first floor.
"Who you cops looking for this time?" the old lady cackled.
"Mel Ott," Alex told her. "He still live here?"
The woman took a can of snuff out of the apron she was wearing over her faded blue housedress, opened it, took out a pinch of snuff, and stuffed it behind her lip. She moved it around until she seemed to find a comfortable spot for it, then she looked at Alex and shook her head actively. "Hell no!" she said. "That free-loading bastard skipped out on me a week ago. Son-of-a-bitch owed me five month's rent." She spit some brown juice out on the floor of the hallway.
"Do you know where he went?" Tim Jackman asked.
The woman shook her head. "Ain't got no idea," she said. "If I did, I'd be there, taking my rent out of his worthless hide."
"Yes, ma'am," Alex said. He stifled a sudden urge to grin. Mel Ott, who seemed to think he was tough, had stiffed his landlady, who really was tough. If Mel had any brains, he'd stay away from this woman.
"I guess you guys can head out," Alex told the other officers. "Looks like we missed our boy by a couple of weeks."
"Is there anything I can do to help, Captain?" Tim asked.
"I guess not, Tim," Alex said. "I've got a couple other leads to check out." He smiled at the eager young officer. "One of these days you're going to learn not to volunteer, Tim," he said. "You can't imagine what kind of trouble you can get yourself into by volunteering."
"Come on, partner, let's get back to the office before we actually wind up having to do something," Martha Draper said. "We got to finish our reports on those burglaries."
"Yeah, OK," Tim said. The young detective looked and sounded disappointed.
Alex headed for Jennifer's house. Maybe she would have some helpful information on Mel Ott. He knew she probably didn't, but it was a good excuse to see her again.
"I'm sorry, Alex, I'm not sure there's much I can tell you about Mel Ott," Jennifer said as she and Alex walked toward her office. "Other than that he was shiftless, lazy, and surly. I made a big mistake hiring him in the first place."
She had shown Alex around the house and farm, and while she did, he explained why he was there, without letting her know William Atherton was involved.
"I probably have his address and social security number," she added, "but I really don't know much else about him. To be honest with you, I'm not sure why I ever hired him."
"I'll look at what you have," Alex told her, "Dick Tracey's Crimestopper tip number 605: You never know, so you should always look."
Jennifer gave him a puzzled look. "That's not true, is it?" she asked. "I mean, you don't really have that memorized from the cartoons."
